


Storm

by MoreThanSlightly (cadignan)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Bisexuality, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadignan/pseuds/MoreThanSlightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Perhaps you’re worth the trouble after all,” Peggy tells Bucky, and he grins. They’ve developed a cautious, teasing relationship. Steve is absurdly grateful that they tolerate each other at all. He fantasizes, sometimes, that they might even like each other in the same way that he likes—</p><p>“God, Sergeant Barnes, if this place has hot water, I’ll kiss you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve has never seen mud like this in his life. He could pull their jeep out of the rut, but there’s hardly a point to it—the damn thing’ll just get stuck again. The rest of the Howling Commandos are stuck down the road, and Peggy is in the jeep, shouting into the radio over the roar of the rain.

Bucky comes back then, trudging up the hill and soaked to his bones. He catches Steve’s eye and nods back down the hill. He’d found shelter, then. Steve looks at Peggy, and she shuts off the radio and gets her pack out of the jeep. They push the vehicle just off the road and into the trees, and cover it as best they can with fallen branches.

They’re all shivering and striped with mud by the time they make it out of the woods. Bucky grins at both of them, his teeth white against all the mud clinging to him, sweeps his arm to the side and takes a bow.

Steve had imagined a shack, or some rickety old farmhouse. Most places around here don’t have plumbing or electricity.

It’s a grand old estate home. The windows are boarded up and the garden is overgrown, but it’s got stone walls and turrets and everything.

“It’s empty?”

“I didn’t have time to check all twelve bedrooms,” Bucky says. “But it looks pretty damn empty to me.”

“Perhaps you’re worth the trouble after all,” Peggy tells Bucky, and he grins. They’ve developed a cautious, teasing relationship. Steve is absurdly grateful that they tolerate each other at all. He fantasizes, sometimes, that they might even like each other in the same way that he likes—

“God, Sergeant Barnes, if this place has hot water, I’ll kiss you.”

Steve’s mouth is still open as Peggy pushes open the door. Bucky saunters in after her, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve and Peggy haven’t done much more than kissing, at least not until recently. She offered, two weeks ago when they were pressed up against each other and laughing breathlessly in a supply closet down the hall from Colonel Phillips’ office, and God, Steve had never wanted anything more.

“I don’t have a—,” he’d whispered.

“Condom?” Peggy had said. “Drat. I do, but they’re in a file at the back of one of my desk drawers. Really, Steve, I thought you’d be more prepared.”

He hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous, and just as he had started to apologize, Peggy had slapped a hand over his mouth, bent down—he wouldn’t have thought there was any space left in that closet—and undone his fly. She’d left a smear of red lipstick at the base of his cock.

He still couldn’t think about it without getting hard. He had wanted to reciprocate, but she’d had a meeting to get to, and her lipstick had been all messed up, and she knew where to find him when she wanted him. That last bit, those were her words. Peggy Carter was not shy.

She didn’t joke around much either, except to tease him about his “lack of strategic foresight” ever since the supply closet incident. (Steve is carrying condoms right now, at this very moment, on his person, which he’s sure will only lead to further teasing. But if it also leads to Peggy sleeping with him, he will put up with ten years of teasing. A hundred.) So Peggy might have been serious about kissing Bucky. Was she ribbing him? If Steve were normal, he might be irritated. That’s how you were supposed to react when you thought about your girl kissing someone else, right?

Only… Bucky was really good at kissing girls, and Steve had never minded watching.

Thinking about Bucky kissing Peggy feels a lot like thinking about the supply closet, that is to say, he should stop right now and get out of the damn rain. Bucky is standing in the doorway waiting for him.

“I swear, Rogers, I don’t know what goes on in there sometimes,” Bucky says, and he knocks his knuckles against the side of Steve’s head. Steve pushes him, and Bucky can’t resist pushing him back, and they end up scuffling right there in the entryway, leaving muddy bootprints streaked across the floor.

They’ve always been like this, ready to roughhouse at the drop of a hat. For Steve, it was a way to touch Bucky that didn’t draw unwanted attention. It compensated for all the other times they sat a little too close together or hugged a little too hard. People in the neighborhood thought of them as a unit, inseparable, and nobody was too bothered about it as long as Bucky kept dating girls.

People in the neighborhood didn’t know a goddamn thing. Steve and Bucky had fooled around in the dark more times than Steve could count. They never talked about it, not really. They settled on mutual silence as the best course of action. You could touch your best friend and still grow up and marry a girl and start a family and all the other stuff you were supposed to do. It was all fine as long as you never talked about it or had any feelings about it. The kind of touches they shared in the dark were just like the roughhousing they did in broad daylight: something boys did, something men left behind.

Steve never really had a growth spurt, and he never really stopped wanting to touch Bucky, even when Bucky was going off to war. If that wasn’t manhood, what was? After that, Steve had wondered if the serum would make him feel differently about Bucky. Maybe that was what he needed. But the serum hadn’t changed it, and Steve had realized then that nothing would.

Not even Peggy.

He _loved_ Peggy. It didn’t matter how little time they’d spent together, in the scheme of things—this was war, and he knew her, and he loved her. There was nobody else like Peggy. She was bold and ruthless and righteous, all the things he wanted to be, plus sharp-witted and dazzlingly gorgeous. Steve wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, making her happy.

But Steve couldn’t live without Bucky. He felt awful about the whole thing. Having all three of them together should have made him the happiest person in the world, but he couldn’t enjoy it. It was like he was lying to both of them. Wasn’t Peggy enough for him? Either one of them should have been enough for him. You weren’t supposed to need two people.

“Hey,” Bucky says, and he and Steve pause grappling with each other. “Where’d she go?”

Peggy’s duffel and her muddy boots are on the floor inside the entrance, but she’s nowhere in sight. Steve takes in the foyer of the house, all its furniture draped in musty sheets, and then nods at the grand staircase. “In search of a bath, I’d bet.”

“And what are you gonna do if she finds one?” Bucky says, raising his brows. It’s a break in the clouds to see him so expressive, even if it is just teasing bravado. Anything is better than the shuttered expression that Bucky’s been wearing all too often since Steve found him on that table.

“The better question is what are _you_ gonna do,” Steve says, unlacing his boots, and he can’t help smiling. He should calm down. It was probably a joke. They’re not going to kiss. People don’t do that. Bucky’s not going to kiss Peggy right in front of him, and then—it’s too improbable, Steve shouldn’t imagine the rest. Or even if they did kiss, they might discover they get along just fine without him, as beautiful and charming and experienced as they both are. Then he’ll really be out in the cold. Steve should stop his wishful thinking right here.

Bucky told him about a song once, a song that Jews sang at Passover. Steve knew enough by then to know that when Bucky said “Jews,” he meant his mom’s parents, but that was another one of those things they never really talked about. But the verses of the song all went _If He had brought us out of Egypt, it would have been enough_ or _If He had given us the Torah, it would have been enough_. It was a song about gratitude.

Steve could have written verses like that about his own life: it would have been enough if Steve had only been cured of all his ailments, it would have been enough if he had only found Bucky alive in that camp, it would have been enough if Peggy only tolerated him, it would have been enough if Bucky and Peggy were both alive and healthy and safe…

“Depends on how hot the water is,” Bucky says, slapping him on the shoulder and bounding up the stairs.

There’s a massive cast-iron tub with claw feet in the upstairs bathroom. Peggy is leaning over it, one hand on its white enamel fixtures. She’s wearing trousers, since they were just in the field. Steve understands why the SSR thought this particular uniform was a good idea for _Peggy_ , but Christ, it’s a life-threatening distraction for anyone who has to stand behind her. Bucky is transfixed, and Steve nudges him with an elbow.

Maybe some day women will wear trousers in everyday life, like men do. They do seem more practical. Steve would be desperately horny all the time—even more so than normal—but it would only be fair.

“Well, boys,” Peggy says, and twists both the faucet handles.

The metal creaks, but nothing comes out. Steve tries not to let his shoulders wilt with disappointment.

“Guess we’ll never—,” Bucky starts, and he sounds oddly cheerful about it. Maybe even relieved.

And then a rush of slightly rust-tinted water pours forth from the faucet, splattering into the tub. Peggy tests it with her hand. The water gets clearer as more of it comes out, and then Peggy blocks the drain and lets the tub start to fill. She smiles wickedly at both of them.

Bucky looks at Steve, his eyes wide. He doesn’t look much like the suave flirt from Brooklyn that Steve grew up envying and adoring. Steve has only seen him look so uncertain on two other occasions—the very first time they found themselves alone together in the dark, right before Steve made his intentions clear, and when Steve found him strapped to that table, half-dead. For all his joking, Bucky doesn’t know how to navigate this situation any better than Steve does. He doesn’t want to fuck things up.

God, what a relief not to be alone.

“Don’t look at me,” Steve says, holding his hands up. “I don’t tell her what to do.”

Peggy stalks over to the two of them and puts her hands on her hips. “Of course not,” she says to Steve, affronted that he would even bring up the possibility. But then she softens. She comes close enough to touch him, lifts her hand and runs her fingertips down his mud-flecked cheek. Then she raises her other hand and yanks Bucky down by the collar. She kisses him right there, eight inches from Steve’s face.

It’s better than anything Steve imagined. They’re dirty and soaking wet and Bucky’s obviously off-kilter at first, startled by Peggy initiating things. Buck must be used to putting the moves on girls, but Steve had learned quickly that Peggy didn’t wait around for anybody. Bucky picks that up fast enough, angling his head to deepen the kiss, and letting his hands drop to her waist in a gesture that belies years of practice. He gets a little sigh out of her. He’d always been good with women, Bucky. Steve should be jealous, maybe, but instead he keeps thinking _they’re both so beautiful_. He stands there, alternately hoping no one will notice how hard he is and hoping that someone—both of them—will notice how hard he is and offer to do something about it.

Peggy breaks the kiss and walks away while Bucky is still blinking. She stops the rush of water into the tub. She bends over again to do it, because Steve’s arousal wasn’t painful enough yet. Bucky whispers “damn,” mostly to himself, and lifts a hand to touch his lips, as if he can’t quite believe what happened.

Peggy lets her hair loose, sheds her jacket, and unbuttons her shirt. She turns around halfway through this process and doesn’t seem to understand that they’re both staring at her, utterly dumbfounded. “How long since you’ve had a bath?” she says. “Either of you. A real bath.”

She discards her shirt and then bends over toward them, lifting one leg so that she can peel off her sock. Steve grabs Bucky by the elbow to steady him. He’s got eyes like saucers, and he’s looking a little pale. Having dropped her second sock on the tiles, Peggy straightens and undoes her belt. “Well?”

Oh. She asked them a question. Steve glances at Bucky, who shakes his head. Steve shrugs. “It’s not really the bath that has our attention,” he says, generously speaking for both of them. He’s seen Peggy half-naked before, but they’ve always been in a hurry not to get caught. And Bucky might have seen plenty of girls naked, but in Steve’s utterly subjective, biased opinion, none of them could possibly have had anything on Peggy.

It’s funny how easy it is to stand there next to Bucky and watch Peggy undress and say things like _our attention_. He’s blushing all to hell—amazing, considering the amount of blood flowing to his dick—but he’s not uncomfortable. He’s thrilled and awed and a little afraid he’ll wake up any second now to find himself back in camp surrounded by the Howling Commandos with a raging hard-on that he’ll have to take care of all by himself, but not uncomfortable. It feels right, the three of them together. He hopes they want it as much as he does. If that kiss was anything to go by, he’s in good company.

Peggy pushes her trousers down, revealing miles of bare leg, and then stands up again, clad only in her white silk underwear and brassiere. Steve wants to say _don’t stop there_ but he’s cowed by the disapproving look she shoots both of them. “Do I have to do everything?” she asks, and then marches toward them and makes short work of the knot of Steve’s tie. Once his tie is loose, she pulls one end hard enough that it whips out from under his collar, startling both Steve and Bucky.

Bucky loosens his own tie, and then says, “I—uh—” and flees.

Steve and Peggy are left standing at the space where he was. Peggy glances up at Steve. “I didn’t expect that,” she says. Steve knows her well enough by now to know that she prides herself on reading people, on knowing what they want.

“I don’t exactly know what to expect in this situation,” Steve says. Peggy is still holding his tie. He undoes his collar, but it doesn’t help him breathe.

Peggy smiles, but it’s not wicked and inviting like before. It’s smaller, more intimate somehow. “You have a gift for understatement.”

“I hope you’re not making fun of my lack of experience, Agent Carter.” It’s difficult to stand here and joke while Bucky is somewhere in the house doing God knows what. Is he okay? Is he upset? But Steve forces himself to stay another moment. They’re not in immediate danger. Maybe Bucky needs a little space.

“Never,” she says. She trails one hand down his abdomen, over his belt buckle and then lower. “You know I find your lack of experience quite charming.” Peggy reluctantly draws her hand away. “But you should talk to him.”

“Just me?”

“For all we know, I’m the one who scared him off,” Peggy says. “Besides, there’s that lovely hot bath over there and it would be a crime to waste it. I’ll be in here.”

Steve never thought he would walk away from the sight of Peggy slipping out of her underwear and into a bath, but he prays it won’t be the last chance he ever gets. Bucky had better fucking appreciate him. If they all die tomorrow, Steve is gonna be pissed to hell. He smiles to himself, then shakes his head. The war is a funny thing. It makes them all macabre. It makes them reckless, too, although according to Bucky, Steve has always been reckless.

But infiltrating enemy territory and running through a hail of bullets is different from trying to sleep with the two people he loves most in the world at the same time. Done wrong, one of those things might end in injury or death, but the other would ruin his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve finds Bucky in the bedroom at the end of the hall. The room is dominated by a huge old four-poster bed in the center, but Bucky is standing off to the side by one of the windows. Rain strikes the glass, but Bucky’s not watching. Steve might have expected him to be staring out the window, or even touching the pane with one hand, looking longingly into the distance. Cliché, maybe, but it would have made a better composition than what’s in front of him. Everything’s just a little off. Bucky standing by himself with his shoulders hunched and his arms around his torso, a figure stranded in space

“Hey,” Steve says softly, not wanting to startle him.

When Bucky turns toward him, he looks shaken. His eyes are red. Steve is struck, for the first time, by how much thinner he is. They all look worse for wear in these rationed days, but it’s a gradual process, hard to notice in the field. But really, the difference in Bucky has nothing to do with the physical. There’s no trace of his grinning, flirtatious bravado. Was this evening all an act? Did that part of him disappear in the Hydra base, or was he ever really like that? Maybe his old Brooklyn self was just as much for show.

“What the hell are you doing here, Rogers? There’s a beautiful dame waiting for you down the hall.”

The line falls flat with Bucky looking as lost as he does, but Steve wants to tread carefully. “I could say the same to you.”

A rasp of a laugh. “She’ll be waiting forever, in that case.”

“What?” Bucky had kissed her. Steve had been right there. Bucky had enjoyed that, right? “I know it’s… unconventional,” Steve says. “Both of us, at the same time, I mean. But I want to. And she wants to.” Steve takes the smallest, quietest steadying breath he can manage. “Do you… not want to?”

“Want’s got nothing to do with it,” Bucky says. He looks away. His stare is aimed out the window, but Steve bets a whole army could walk through the garden and Bucky wouldn’t notice. Steve takes advantage of Bucky’s distraction to move closer. He picks up Bucky’s left hand with both of his.

“You know I’m slow, Buck,” he says. “You’re gonna have to explain it to me.”

Bucky’s gaze darts toward him, and then away, like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather talk about less.

“In small words,” Steve adds helpfully, hoping to get a smile out of Bucky. He fails.

Bucky takes his hand out of Steve’s. He makes a sharp downward gesture with both hands, encompassing his hips. “What’s to explain?” he says. “I can’t.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. He’s tempted to pick up Bucky’s hand again, or to reach for him, to squeeze him, to say _I’m gonna kill everyone who ever hurt you_ , but he takes his time reacting. Bucky didn’t say Hydra did this to him. It has to have crossed his mind, though. They strapped him to that table for something.

“Buck,” Steve says. He has all kinds of questions, but what comes out is, “Shit.”

Bucky shoots him a look, and Steve immediately regrets it.

“I didn’t mean—” Steve starts. “It’s not about me, that’s not what I meant. I meant—I’m sorry. I—”

“‘Shit’ is a good enough summary,” Bucky says, stopping him. “You think I didn’t have that thought, with two beautiful people trying to fuck me?” He laughs, but Steve can’t bring himself to join. “I thought maybe this would do the trick. What kind of guy can’t get it up for Peggy Carter and Captain America?”

Bucky looks away then and scrubs a hand over his face. Steve can’t bear it. He wraps his arms around Bucky and squeezes. Bucky doesn’t respond, but his arms are trapped by his sides. Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s hair, just behind his ear. “I still want you.”

“You got terrible taste, Rogers.” But Bucky relaxes against him, just a fraction.

“Are you sure you can’t?” Steve says. “What have you tried?”

Bucky sighs in frustration. “Trust me, I’ve tried,” he says.

It’s hard to ask the next question, but Steve forges ahead. “Do you think they did something—,”

“What, you think my dick just spontaneously broke?”

“No, I, uh,” Steve says. “I heard sometimes it’s a symptom of battle fatigue. Men… lose interest.” 

“I don’t know if you saw me kiss your girl back there, Rogers, but I have not lost interest.”

“Oh, I saw,” Steve says. He feels a little guilty about getting hard so fast, given the circumstances, but it can’t be helped. That kiss was the best thing he’s ever seen in his life.

Bucky doesn’t try to get away from him. “Well, at least one of us is in working order,” he says, wry. “I had a good run, so I guess it’s your turn to be the one in good health. That woman loves you, Steve. Don’t fuck it up.”

“C’mon, Buck, don’t quit on me now,” Steve says, pulling back just enough that he can look Bucky in the eyes. Their hips are still pressed together, and Steve has to calm the part of himself that keeps hoping to feel something from Bucky. “We can fix this. We can work something out.”

“Like what? A splint?”

Steve’s mouth quirks, but it’s not because of Bucky’s sarcasm. It’s the idea he just had. “You could watch.”

“Watch,” Bucky says, clearly skeptical.

“Me and Peggy,” Steve says. “Maybe it would help.”

One corner of Bucky’s mouth tugs down. “I dunno, Steve. I already told you I tried.”

“With who?” Steve says. He’d been assuming that Bucky hadn’t been with anybody since they got back, given his mood. But maybe he’d been assuming wrong. He didn’t mean for his question to sound so accusatory, so he adds, as lightly as possible, “Your hand?”

“You act like I got no imagination,” Bucky says, lifting his chin.

“I know you got no imagination, you shit-for-brains,” Steve says. He grins and taps Bucky on the side of the head. “I bet it’s all grainy and black-and-white in there. Come on. This’ll be full color, three dimensions, the real deal. You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, but… I know you got no plans.”

“You just want me to watch ‘cause you don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re doing.”

“There’s that, too,” Steve says, happy to take the hit if it means Bucky’s coming around. Besides, Bucky’s not wrong. “Can I kiss you?”

“You’re standing there poking me with your hard-on and you’re asking if you can kiss me,” Bucky says. He sounds grouchy but he’s looking at Steve for the first time in awhile, and he’s smiling a little.

“That is what’s happening, yeah.”

“You know you’re literally _rubbing it in_ , you asshole.”

“I can’t help it,” Steve says. He gives Bucky his best Bambi eyes. It’s hard to look pleading when the promise of being naked in bed with both Bucky and Peggy is occupying all his thoughts. “I’m overcome by your beauty.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky says, and kisses him.

Steve is always raring to go, ever since the serum, and Bucky had always had a robust sex drive, so it’s disconcerting to feel no response. But this kiss isn’t about that, not really. Steve tastes rainwater on the skin of Bucky’s face and feels the mud clumped in his hair and thinks _I still want you_. He knows that better than he knows anything about himself. His body’s all different and he’s doing things he never dreamed of, wearing a costume and fighting mad scientists with ray guns and fuck knows what else, and who could have ever predicted that the two of them would end up traipsing around Europe. Steve would have laughed, a few years ago, if somebody had told him that some day he’d be six-foot-two and hanging around somebody’s abandoned mansion in _France_. Both of those things sounded about as likely as aliens or people coming back from the dead.

But if that same somebody had said that a few years from now, he’d be kissing Bucky, Steve would have shrugged and wondered why Bucky hadn’t gotten himself married already, and then he’d have thought, _but that does sound like me_.

Point is, Steve could never have predicted a goddamn thing about this moment except that he still wants Bucky. He’ll always want Bucky.

It has nothing to do with his dick. Sure, Steve will miss it—it’s a fucking fantastic cock, after all—if they never manage to figure it out, but it doesn’t matter, not really. He loves Bucky, the whole of him, which is a hell of a lot more than the sum of his parts.

It’s the least he can do, after he went and changed his entire body and Bucky still knew him.

“What are you grinning at?”

Steve presses his forehead against Bucky’s. He smiles, feeling a little foolish. “You know that thing about the ship of Theseus?”

“No.”

“If you replace one plank in the deck of a ship, it’s still the same ship, right?” Steve says. “So what if you replace all the wood in the ship? Is it the same ship?”

“This is what you think about while I’m kissing you?” Bucky huffs in disgust and shoves his thigh between Steve’s legs, lifting it a little to press against Steve’s balls. “Ships? Philosophy shit?”

Steve rocks his hips against Bucky, then closes his eyes and shivers a little at the pressure. He kisses the side of Bucky’s neck. “I was thinking about you and me,” he murmurs.

“And _planks_ and _wood_ ,” Bucky says. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Not so deep after all. I hope you’re better at whispering sweet nothings when it’s Agent Carter you’re kissing.”

Steve almost protests that Bucky has it wrong, that it’s about so much more than that, but the mention of Peggy sends his thoughts in a different direction. “We should check on her,” he says.

Peggy is wrapping herself in a white towel when they arrive at the bathroom, and Steve feels a pang for having left her alone for all that time, but she doesn’t look the least bit unhappy. She has another towel wrapped around her hair. Steve has never understood how women do that. She perches on the edge of the tub and looks at them expectantly. Somehow, dressed in two towels, Peggy still has more poise and authority than anyone else Steve’s ever met.

“We’re alright,” Steve says, and he feels Bucky go still behind him, as if Steve is overstating the case. “Or we will be,” he adds. “We’re gonna take it slow.”

Peggy regards both of them for a long moment, and then her gaze focuses behind Steve, where Bucky is standing. Steve doesn’t have to turn around to know that Bucky is hovering in the doorway, caught between his desire and the urge to bolt again.

“What do you want?” Peggy says, and she doesn’t have to say Bucky’s name to make it clear who the question is for. Steve guesses nobody needs to ask him that question—they’re all pretty clear on what he wants. He blushes, to think he’s been so transparent this whole time, mooning after both of them. At least no real harm has come of it. Bucky is hurting, but Steve’s got the sense to know it has nothing to do with him. Still, Peggy’s question is a good one. Steve is glad Peggy didn’t say some vague yes-or-no thing like “do you want to,” because he’d like to hear Bucky’s answer. The question, like everything Peggy says, is direct but not unkind.

Bucky takes so long to say anything that Steve starts to notice the sound of the rain on the roof and the windows again, and he wonders if maybe Bucky isn’t going to answer. But Bucky steps into the doorway, brushing against Steve as he does, and leans one shoulder against the jamb.

“To not feel like a fucking shipwreck,” Bucky says, and he eyes Steve as he says it. “But I guess I’ll settle for watching the two most beautiful people in my life fuck.” He smiles at Peggy, an approximation of his former Brooklyn self. He’s not looking very dapper, or even remotely clean, but somehow, with that pose and that smile, none of it matters. But Steve had always had an intimate understanding of all the women who sighed over Bucky back home.

Peggy doesn’t sigh. “Watching,” she repeats.

“If that’s all right with you,” Steve says.

“Of course,” she says. She looks like she’s about to say something else, ask a question maybe, but then she thinks better of it. She sits up straighter. “Not that I’m immune to the appeal of being taken to bed by two strapping, filthy men,” Peggy says. “But I haven’t been clean in such a long time, so tonight, at least, I’d really prefer you without the mud.” She gestures at the bathtub, and Steve begins to strip off his uniform without being asked.

As soon as their clothes start coming off, Steve and Bucky revert back to poking at each other, elbowing each other’s bare sides. Peggy laughs at them, and the tension in the room lessens. 

“Are we even gonna fit—,” Bucky says, half to himself, steadying himself with a hand on Steve’s shoulder as he strips off his socks and then his underwear. Steve can’t deny he’s had the thought himself. As big as that tub may be, they are two full-sized adults and it’s going to be a tight squeeze no matter what. It’s the first time since the serum that he’s missed being smaller. But without the serum, he’d never have ended up here.

“Men,” Peggy tsks. “You always think you’re too big to fit.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, flashing her a naughty smile. Steve has the feeling of watching him ease into the role. “You got a lot of experience with that, Agent Carter?”

“If you mean the insufferable male ego, then unfortunately, yes,” she says, unfazed.

“We’ll make it work,” Steve says, hardly even looking at the tub. Bucky is naked. He’s beautiful, even sporting weeks worth of bruises all down his body. Bucky’s probably only teasing Peggy to distract her from how raggedly thin and worn he looks, and Steve knows she can hold her own. But still, Steve would rather see the two of them get along. That is what this is about, after all.

Bucky pulls him into the tub with an enthusiasm that surprises Steve. They bump up against the white enamel walls and each other and splash a sinful amount of water on the tiles, but eventually they both end up squeezed into the tub. Bucky is behind Steve with his legs spread in a V and his knees up. His thighs are practically in Steve’s armpits, but Steve doesn’t give a damn.

Bucky has arranged them so that Steve is shielding most of his body from view. Steve is the one on display—as much as a grown man stuffed into a bathtub with another grown man can be on display—and he knows Bucky has arranged them this way on purpose, but he doesn’t object. He isn’t accustomed to being looked at, or at least not like this. Even after all those months doing shows with chorus girls, punching Hitler in front of crowds and being photographed all day long, being naked in front of Peggy and Bucky makes him shiver. It reminds him of coming out of Dr. Erskine’s machine for the first time, when everything was clearer and brighter, like he’d been listening to the world through a tin can on a string before. Having Peggy and Bucky look at him is like that, but with touch instead of sound. He feels it all over his skin. It’s overwhelming and it makes him want to squirm and hide, but it’s also so _good_ that he wants to bask in it forever.

Jesus. They haven’t even started and Steve is already falling apart.

Peggy draws a line over his cheekbone with the tip of her index finger. “Look at that blush.”

“Didn’t know if you still would,” Bucky says, soft but gruff, like he’s trying not to let on that he thought about it. They only ever fooled around in the dark, but Steve has always been quick to turn pink. He never thought of it as a good thing, but apparently Bucky would have missed it if the serum had fixed it somehow. That makes him want to squirm even more, but thank God, at that moment, Bucky pours a handful of water over the back of his neck.

Peggy laughs at the face Steve makes, and then she says to Bucky, “That was awfully restrained of you. You could have dumped it over his head, or just dunked him entirely.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, and Steve feels the little movement of him shaking his head. Addressing Steve, he says, “Close your eyes.” Steve hears Bucky cup his hands in the water and then feels their contents flowing over the crown of his head down into his hair. “I’ve shoved Steve underwater plenty of times,” Bucky tells Peggy. He runs his wet hands through Steve’s hair, which is too short to be tangled but still stiff with mud. It feels nice, Bucky’s fingers rubbing little circles against his scalp. “Shoving, wrestling—Steve was always up for anything rough.”

Bucky is talking about him like he’s not there, but there’s the sound of a bottle opening and then Bucky is massaging shampoo into his hair, and Steve can’t be bothered to care about anything else.

“This, though,” Bucky says. “He would never have let me do this.”

Bucky is talking about him like he’s two people, a before and an after, and Steve wants to protest that he didn’t even _know_ Bucky wanted to do this kind of thing, but that doesn’t make what Bucky is saying any less true. Steve wouldn’t have submitted to anything like this, before. He hated being handled delicately.

Now, though, gentleness has a certain appeal.

Bucky finishes washing his hair and Steve feels a touch under his chin. He opens his eyes and it’s Peggy looking at him, her damp hair curling over her bare shoulders. She’s kneeling on the bathroom floor so that they’re level, and she leans in and kisses him.

“Hey now,” Bucky interrupts. “If you’re gonna do that, do it right.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a wrong way,” Peggy says. “But I refuse to submit to the opinion of a man with that much mud in his hair.” She backs away from the edge of the tub. “Steve,” she says, and he knows what she wants before she says the rest. “I’d do it myself but I’m already clean.”

Steve suspects that Peggy has other motivations. It’s pretty easy to guess that Bucky doesn’t like strangers touching him lately, and maybe she’s not sure how Bucky would react to her suddenly trying to wash his hair. Either way, Steve is happy to twist around—as difficult as it is with two of them in the tub—until he’s facing Bucky.

Bucky lifts one corner of his mouth and nods at Steve’s nakedness. “You got a permit for that?”

Steve thinks about joking that Bucky shouldn’t be questioning his superior, but he doesn’t want to bring the war into this. It’s already present enough as it is. Instead he smiles and says, “Never been much for following rules.” It comes out softer than he intended, but he’s never been much for flirting or innuendo, either.

“Now he admits it,” Bucky says to Peggy, looking rueful.

“I gather he’s always been troublesome.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m right here.”

“We can see that,” Peggy says, and Bucky agrees, “Hard to miss a big lunk like you.”

Steve looks from Peggy to Bucky and back again. He’s been worried about the wrong thing. The danger has never been the two of them disliking each other. No, no—the real danger is the two of them getting along. He feels an instant of terror—sensible, entirely justified terror—and then a smile uncurls across his face. This is gonna be great.

He surges forward and plants one on Bucky, who lets himself slip lower into the water, pulling Steve down until they’re horizontal, a tangle of arms and legs. The water sloshes around them. They don’t fit in the tub at all. It’s ridiculous. It’s uncomfortable. Steve kisses Bucky again, quick and excited, impulsive and stupid with love. For the first time in forever, Bucky smiles at him. Not a flirtation, not a smirk, not a smile for anybody else’s benefit. God, Steve forgot what it was like. It’s fucking dazzling.

He washes the mud out of Bucky’s hair, aware that he shouldn’t be hurrying—this moment of peace may only encompass the three of them, but it is no less precious for that—but unable to stop thinking of what will happen next. Peggy touches the back of his neck and the space between his shoulder blades. She’s standing next to the bath now, towering over both of them, her towel dropped carelessly at her feet.

She’s magnificent. Steve has drawn her from his imagination a dozen times. He sketched little private jokes: Peggy as _La Grande Odalisque_ , Peggy as _Liberty Leading the People_. He got some things right. The glorious line of her neck. The muscles of her arms. Her little waist, the flare of her hips. But Steve’s no match for the real thing, and he wouldn’t bet on Ingres or Delacroix either. There’s no art form that could capture the feeling of her hand on his skin.

She smiles at him indulgently, and for the first time, Steve understands what it’s like to be a tourist gawking at a skyscraper.

Bucky pokes him in the side. “You’re crushin’ me.”

Steve gets out of the bath and pulls Bucky up after him, and they dry off and scramble to the bedroom.

Peggy strides in front of both of them, and Steve can’t help but catch her around the waist and spin her into a kiss. She handles the surprise well, first reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders and then sliding one hand all the way down his back to grope his ass. He makes a little noise, and knows he must be grinning like a dope when she breaks the kiss.

Peggy steps away from him to stand in front of Bucky. Steve takes in the image of the two of them naked, right next to the giant four-poster bed, and wishes he could watch them fuck. Bucky has to be good at it, with all the girls he took out, even if he doesn’t look all that confident right now. Peggy radiates enough self-assurance for both of them. She’s touching Bucky’s face, her fingers drifting over his scruffy cheeks and then combing through his hair. The way Bucky is staring down at her, Steve can see his anxiety dissipate into calm and then transform into something else entirely.

“Kiss me,” she says. It’s just as beautiful as the first time, but nothing like it at all. It’s slower, and somehow kinder.  For a moment, their lips are the only point of contact. Bucky doesn’t touch her until Peggy takes both his hands and forcefully places them on her ass. Then he can’t resist grabbing two handfuls—who could?—and drawing her closer to him.

The kiss goes on long enough that Steve almost needs to touch himself to relieve the ache in his dick. He’s been trying to ignore it, waiting for something better than his own hand.

When they do stop kissing, Bucky looks relaxed, happy even, with his hands resting on Peggy’s waist. She reaches up and runs the tip of her index finger over his bottom lip, and then Steve does give in and press the heel of his hand to his dick. Jesus. He can’t say why that tiny gesture carries such an erotic charge. Peggy looked so certain, and Bucky looked so… so pliant.

“You have a beautiful mouth,” Peggy says. Then she grins wickedly and says, “You know where else I’d like to be kissed?”

Bucky has barely finished nodding before he’s dropping to his knees. Steve’s heart nearly stops. He’s thought about this before, but only in the most private, secret way. He couldn’t be sure if it was just some filthy thing that he wanted, or if other people ever did it. What does it taste like? Will Bucky let him have a turn?

Peggy perches on the edge of the bed, her legs still closed, and puts a hand on Bucky’s head to stop him from getting any closer. “Steve,” she says, and the sound of his own name startles him. Peggy smiles at him fondly, which means he definitely looks like a goof and is probably blushing, but it’s worth it anyway. “I promise we won’t start without you,” Peggy says. “But I need you to go downstairs and get my bag for me.”

Steve nods and spends the whole walk thinking about Bucky kissing Peggy between her thighs. It’s a miracle he doesn’t fall down the stairs and break his neck. He collects all their bags, leaving their muddy boots by the door, and walks back to the bedroom.

“Excellent,” Peggy says when he comes back, and he knows she’s just acknowledging his presence, but for some reason it makes him blush a little. She’s fully on the bed now, leaning back against the pillows with her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. Steve wishes she would spread her legs, even just a little. He’s seen dirty pictures and anatomy textbooks and even glimpses of the real thing in life drawing sessions, but he’s never had the chance to _look_ , not really. And he’s never seen Peggy’s. He’s sure it’s beautiful. He can’t imagine any part of her that isn’t.

She smiles at him like she can read his mind—it’s probably not that difficult, at the moment—and then she uncrosses her ankles, bends her knees, and spreads her thighs. Her sex is bright pink against her dark hair and the creamy skin of her thighs. It glistens a little, like it’s already wet. Above it, Peggy’s hair forms a neat triangle, as if she trims it, and Steve spares half a thought for the dark blond tangle of hair at the root of his cock. Is he supposed to be grooming that? It’s too late to care now, and besides, there’s Peggy to look at.

Bucky comes to stand beside him and nudge him in the shoulder. “Close your mouth, Rogers, have a little dignity.”

Steve wants to retort that he’s not gawking at Peggy with his mouth open, but he’s embarrassed to realize that is exactly what he’s doing. He shuts his mouth.

“Nah, I’m just kiddin’, it was cute,” Bucky says. “Besides, you need your tongue for this part.”

Bucky gets on the bed between Peggy’s spread legs and pats the space next to him in invitation. Steve isn’t sure they can both fit between Peggy’s legs, but he feels profoundly fucking motivated to make it work. Peggy hooks one leg over Bucky’s shoulder and lifts the other so that Steve can squeeze in.

Bucky noses in first, and when he licks Peggy’s clit, she lets out the most marvelous little “ah” sound. Then she reaches down and grabs his hair to pull him in closer, saying, “Aren’t you gorgeous, I knew you’d be good at that, I _knew_ ,” and finishing her sentence with another little gasp.

After awhile, Bucky pauses and pulls away just far enough that Steve can kiss him. His face is slick and he tastes a little different. That must be what Peggy tastes like. Steve has barely pulled his tongue back into his mouth before Bucky’s hand is on the back of his head, pushing him down. Steve slides the tip of his tongue down the folds of Peggy’s sex, just like he’d seen Bucky do, and she sighs happily. He could do this for a week if she’d keep making that sound.

Steve reaches up to cup one of her breasts. He brushes his thumb over her nipple, then lets his hand slide down her. Peggy is still magnificent, but the war has run them all ragged, and as he runs his hand over her, he can feel—just barely—outline of her ribs. She wasn’t this skinny when they first met. Her belly is soft, and there’s still a faint curve right under her navel. Touching her there, Steve imagines some distant future moment when they might all be out of this, when they might be recovered. All three of them, alive and healthy, not shadowed by fatigue and famine and fear. He imagines walking into the kitchen some morning and finding both of them already up. Bucky drinking coffee in his underwear, leaning against the counter, bleary-eyed with sleep, but in that soft way that has nothing to do with the weariness of war. Peggy standing across from him, her hair still pinned up and her silk robe hanging open as she lifts a mug of tea to her lips. Steve would walk into the kitchen and kiss Bucky on the lips, then move behind Peggy and kiss her on the back of the neck, let his hand drift down her body, touch the naked softness of her belly.

Something about this imagined glimpse of the future feels more illicit, more forbidden, than anything sexual ever could.

They might never get to have that, even if they do all live through the war. There is only tonight, right now, with Peggy spread out in front of him and Bucky pressed up against his side. They take turns kissing and licking and sucking, and when Peggy finally comes, she cries out and grabs a handful of Steve’s hair so hard that he feels her nails against his scalp.

Peggy lets go of him a moment later and relaxes back against the bed. She lifts up her legs and Steve and Bucky sit up. “Fucking Christ,” she says.

“His name is Steve, actually,” Bucky says, because he’s never been able to resist that joke. Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” Bucky says, poking Steve. “You promised me a show and you haven’t delivered.”

“You didn’t enjoy that?” Peggy says. Steve fears for the life of anyone who gives the wrong answer to that question. Peggy’s raised eyebrow looks like a blade about to fall.

“Oh, I absolutely did, Agent Carter,” Bucky says. “But I was promised _fucking_.”

“You’ve had your tongue in my cunt, I think you can call me Peggy,” she says dryly. Then she levers herself up from the pillows and hops off the bed. She bends over—Steve looks, then turns away in momentary guilt, and then turns back, because Peggy is completely naked and bending all the way over right in front of them and she must be doing it on purpose and that makes it okay to stare—and digs through her bag, then tosses Steve a condom. He catches it. “But far be it from me to deny you what you were promised,” she adds, smiling.

Steve has barely blinked at the little packet before it’s being taken out of his hand. Bucky smiles at him and then deftly pulls the condom out of its wrapper and begins to roll it down over Steve’s cock. Steve has a strange feeling of déjà vu. He thinks back to all the times the chorus girls fussed with his hair and makeup before he went on stage.

Peggy stands next to the bed and watches them with amusement. She says, “How would you like to do this?”

Steve looks to Bucky for guidance.

“If you’re asking my opinion, well.” Bucky smiles and sings a few bars of “You’re the Top” while making eyes at Peggy, and she laughs.

“I’m certainly not the Coliseum or the Louvre museum, and Steve is definitely not a worthless check,” she says, glancing at him. Steve shrugs. He knows they’re quoting song lyrics, but he’s never been much for singing or dancing. Bucky keeps up with all that, and apparently Peggy does, too. It’s hard to care when they’re discussing how to fuck him. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he abdicated responsibility to them. Maybe he should have taken the lead, made his own decision, picked Peggy up in his arms and laid her out and fucked her with heroic strength. That’s what all the Captain America propaganda implies he would do, isn’t it? None of those posters or films are explicit, of course, but they don’t have to be. Captain America is a man, and that’s what men do.

Peggy’s hand is on Steve’s shoulder even before she smiles at Bucky and says, “All right.”

The Captain America uniform is lying wrinkled on the floor, and Steve has never been more excited to be naked than when Peggy pushes him flat onto his back and straddles his hips. She sheathes his cock inside herself and he wants to say something about how good it feels, how beautiful she looks, how much he loves her, but all he manages is a shaky exhalation.

“Hot damn,” Bucky says. He grins at Steve. He’s lying on his side, stretched out next to Steve and propped up on one elbow. His gaze takes a long, wicked wander down Steve’s body, pinned to the bed under Peggy’s thighs.

Steve resolutely does not look down at Bucky’s thighs to see if his cock is hard. He doesn’t want to make Bucky feel pressured in any way. But still, a little hope uncurls inside him.

Peggy catches his eye, then nods purposefully toward Bucky. Steve doesn’t have to be told. He twists to press an open-mouthed kiss against Bucky’s lips, and just as Bucky lets him in, Peggy begins to move. Steve gasps into Bucky’s mouth—God, she’s perfect, silky-slick and tight, rocking her hips in long, hot strokes—and Bucky actually laughs at him, right in the middle of their kiss.

“You like that, huh?”

“Shutup,” Steve mumbles, eyes closed like that will make him blush less. And then, just so Peggy isn’t offended, he breathes, “Yes.”

Bucky laughs at him again, says, “God, I fucking love you, Rogers,” and then kisses Steve all over his face and neck, like maybe Steve won’t pay too much attention to what he just said if Bucky is dragging his lips down Steve’s throat. But Steve heard it. He stares wide-eyed, heart too full to speak, and then Bucky bites his earlobe and says “You’d better touch Agent Carter if you ever wanna do this again.”

Steve is quick to take that advice. He runs his hands up Peggy’s thighs, over the curve of her hips and her waist. He cups her breasts, brushing his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples, and there’s a little hitch in her rhythm when he does that, because she sucks in a breath and laughs and murmurs “Steve,” so he does it again.

He wants this to last forever, and he settles his hands on her hips in a wordless request for her to slow down, but she shakes her head, sending her dark hair rippling over her shoulders. “Not a chance,” she says, and even as he’s being refused, it’s gratifying that she’s a little breathless. Peggy keeps up a pace that makes him feel like any second might be the end. Her breasts tremble and bounce with the rhythm, and Steve reaches up to touch one again when Bucky grabs him around the wrist and redirects him.

“Right there,” Bucky says, when Steve’s fingers are level with Peggy’s sex. “That’s where you want to touch her. She’s nice and wet already, so all you need to do is—there you go, that’s right, she likes that—doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Peggy says, and the look on her face is so pleased that Steve could die happy right then, but he’s glad he doesn’t, because then he’d miss Peggy putting one hand down, stroking the length of Bucky’s side, and settling possessively on his thigh. And as if that weren’t enough, Bucky starts kissing his neck again, grazing his teeth along the juncture of Steve’s shoulder.

Steve lets out a little sound. He can’t last much longer. It all feels too good. He’s going to come apart.

Peggy touches his face, tracing her fingers along one cheekbone and down under his jaw. “You look so beautiful,” she says. She trails her hand down until it’s touching his chest, right where she almost touched him on the day that he came out of Dr. Erskine’s machine. “And—ahh—just keep your hand there, that feels perfect, please, oh— _Steve_.”

And then he feels her sex clenching around him and his tenuous hold on himself shatters. His hips jerk upward and he comes.

Afterward, when Peggy slides off him, discards the condom and then curls up against his other side, and Steve is thinking that there cannot possibly be any better feeling on Earth than this right here, Bucky says, “That was alright, I guess.”

Peggy reaches across Steve’s check and flicks Bucky in the shoulder. Steve thinks that’s the end of it, but then Peggy lifts her head off his shoulder—flushed, with one dark strand of hair stuck to her cheek, still absolutely dazzling—and says, “You’re hard.”

Steve is most definitely not hard. He could probably be hard again soon, but even with the super serum, he needs a little time—oh. Steve lifts his head to look, and miracle of miracles, James Buchanan Barnes is not only hard, he’s blushing.

“I was just teasin’, Peggy,” he says. “It was better than alright. But you don’t have to—please don’t—”

“Nonsense,” she says. “Of course we will.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He grins so wide at her that it makes his face hurt. Peggy Carter is a perfect woman. He’s still not sure what he did to deserve her, but whatever it is, he hopes he keeps doing it.“Anything you want.”

Bucky buries his face in Steve’s chest and says nothing for a moment. “I don’t know—it might not last—it’s been so long I probably forgot how anyway, I—”

“Now there’s a load of horseshit,” Steve says. Bucky doesn’t laugh, so Steve kisses the top of his head and murmurs, “But if you don’t want to—”

“I do,” Bucky says.

Steve kisses him. It’s overenthusiastic, sloppy, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. Steve rubs his face against the slight roughness of Bucky’s stubble, kisses his nose and his cheeks and his jaw and his neck, and Bucky sighs with laughter.

By the time Steve stops, Peggy has left his side and gone around to the other side of the bed so that Bucky is now between them. She kisses Bucky’s shoulder, just a brush of her lips against his skin, a tentative kindness. 

Steve could melt. “God, I love you,” he says, and hopes it’s clear that he means both of them.

Bucky twists to kiss Peggy. “He’s a pain in the ass but he’s worth it,” he says.

“I think he’s been perfectly well-behaved tonight,” she says, flashing a smile at Steve. “You raised him well,” she says, and Bucky snorts.

Her fingertips dance down his side, stopping to trace over his hipbone. She lets her hand slide down toward his cock, but stops. “Would you rather,” she starts.

“Nah, this is good,” Bucky says quietly. “This is perfect.”

“Just a moment,” she says, getting up.

Steve picks up where she left off, brushing his fingers along the length of Bucky’s cock. Bucky shivers, and then Steve closes his hand around it and starts to stroke. It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but it feels different, here, with the lights on. With Peggy.

She returns to the bed with a little glass jar of Vaseline. She settles in behind Bucky again and says, “James, would it be all right if I fingered you?” and then kisses the back of his neck.

Steve almost laughs at the face Bucky makes. He can’t tell if it’s his given name or Peggy crisply offering to stick her fingers in his ass that Bucky finds so surprising.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. “That’d be alright.”

Steve watches Bucky’s face as Peggy touches him, at first with curiosity and then, after Bucky sighs with pleasure, with envy. Next time, one of them is definitely doing that to him.

If there is a next time.

“I don’t remember askin’ you to stop,” Bucky says, nudging him.

“One little erection and suddenly you’re demanding as all hell,” Steve teases. But he picks up stroking Bucky’s cock again, now noticeably slicker than it was before Peggy started.

“Little,” Bucky repeats. “You might be an inch taller than me now, pal, but we both know which inches—,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, and he kisses Bucky to shut him up, because that’s the only way to win this argument. Behind Bucky, Peggy huffs in amusement.

Bucky breaks the kiss to say, “You’d better kiss your girl, Rogers, before she gets tired of putting up with us.”

And who is Steve to ignore that advice? He kisses Peggy over Bucky’s shoulder, long and luxurious, while between them, their hands work in rhythm. Steve knows it ought to feel extravagant and filthy, this thing they’re doing—and nothing can diminish the thrill of touching both of them at the same time—but instead of feeling wild and illicit, this feels quiet, intimate, even kind of sweet. It doesn’t feel like some once-in-a-lifetime, what-a-story, exhausting night out. It feels like something he could do every night, forever.

Outside, the rain drums on. Steve hasn’t heard any thunder in a long time, but he hasn’t been paying much attention. If the storm abates, they can leave here tomorrow. Steve starts to hope for more rain—downed trees, flash floods, washed-out roads—even though he knows he shouldn’t.

It doesn’t take long before Bucky is squirming, his hips moving and his cock pushing against Steve’s palm.

“Christ,” he breathes. Steve breaks away from kissing Peggy to kiss Bucky instead, and Peggy follows his lead, kissing Bucky’s neck and shoulders. He comes quietly, shuddering with it, spilling into Steve’s hand.

Afterward, Bucky twists around to kiss Peggy again. “You’re a talented woman,” he tells her. Then he glances back at Steve. “You, you’re alright, too.”

“You’re both tolerable,” Peggy says, “or at least I’ll continue tolerating you as long as you don’t steal the blankets.”

“A real romantic, this one,” Bucky says.

“Hush,” Peggy says. “Of course I love you both. Is that not obvious?” She sighs. “Americans.”

Steve laughs at that, a little stunned but mostly warm. _I love you_ both. It keeps his heart thrumming until long after they’ve cleaned up, turned out the lights, and settled into bed together. Peggy falls asleep easily, and Bucky after her. Steve listens to their steady breathing, in time with the sound of the rain.


End file.
